


205: A True Friend

by harlequin (julie)



Series: Season 2 [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-27
Updated: 2009-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 10:50:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/harlequin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur catches Merlin in his room late one night, and decides to make the most of the opportunity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	205: A True Friend

♦

‘If I ever catch you doing it again, I’m feeding you to the dogs. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, absolutely, sire.’ Merlin turned, hoping to make good his escape.

‘Wait – don’t run away!’ Arthur cried out in exasperation.

This got to Merlin through the repugnance of seeing the Lady Catrina’s true form, and also through the chagrin of Arthur assuming Merlin was spying on her with lecherous intent, when the only person in the world Merlin really wanted was the prince. _Don’t run away!_ Merlin paused in his hasty dash towards the door, caught by memories of their first inauspicious encounters. Could Arthur possibly remember, too, or was it an accident of wording? An habitual turn of phrase? Merlin bit down on the beginnings of a grin, and turned around. ‘What? Run away from _you_?’

‘Thank god!’ Arthur said, and his half–reluctant smirk meant that he remembered exactly. Once he seemed satisfied that he’d recaptured Merlin’s attention, Arthur stretched, apparently working out a kink in his back – but also, perhaps inadvertently, displaying his fine muscular figure. ‘Seeing as you woke me,’ Arthur continued conversationally, ‘in the middle of the night, we may as well make use of the situation.’

‘Oh…’ Merlin twisted his lips in distaste, tilted his head doubtfully. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to get back. Gaius will be waiting, and –’

‘ _Don’t_ talk about Gaius, for god’s sake. You’ll spoil the mood.’

‘What _mood_?’ Merlin asked.

Arthur gestured at the window. ‘If spying on the Lady Catrina didn’t do it for you, I’d have hoped seeing me dressed in little more than two yards of black linen might do the trick.’

Merlin cast a glance over his prince, his beloved prince, and couldn’t help but smile. But then he remembered Catrina’s tusks and fleshy drooling mouth, and any incipient interest withered and died. ‘I’m sorry, Arthur, but it’s late, and I’ve been on the go all day – you’ve no idea how hard I work for you and Gaius! – and if I could be excused just this once, sire – please, just this once.’

But Arthur was frowning speculatively at him. After a moment’s reflection he commented, ‘It _is_ the first time you’ve tried to refuse me, isn’t it… Well, except for those times when you’ve been mad at me over some inconsequential matter…’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘Your devotion has been… astounding,’ Arthur continued. ‘Now that I think about it.’

‘Thank you, sire.’ Merlin edged a little towards the door.

But Arthur was still considering the matter. ‘Astounding… especially given your general lack of attention in other areas. When _was_ the last time you mucked out the stables…?’

Merlin favoured him with a sardonic look. ‘And in the middle of any other night, I’d be perfectly happy to oblige you, sire, but –’

The speculative frown had become a gleam. Arthur took a long slow pace towards him, and another, stalking closer, beginning to circle him just out of arm’s reach. Merlin groaned silently. The prince, the warrior, the hunter had been challenged.

‘It’s late,’ Merlin tried again. ‘Don’t you want to just go back to bed –’

‘Yes.’

‘– and get some sleep?’

Arthur shrugged. ‘I was restless. I want you to relax me.’

‘But, Arthur…’

The prince was behind Merlin now. Hands settled on his shoulders. Ran down his arms for a moment, and then back up again, before smoothly tugging Merlin’s coat back off and down until the sleeves were bunched around his forearms, trapping his wrists just behind each hip. And when Merlin finally sighed in surrender and tried to shrug the coat off, Arthur grabbed it and held it right where it was.

_‘Arthur…’_ he murmured, wary and intrigued at once.

Breath soft at his nape, lips damp, and then teeth gnawing at the flesh just over a knot of bone, making him shiver.

‘Over to the bed,’ Arthur ordered, giving him a little push.

Merlin went willingly enough, stumbling a little because having his hands restricted seemed to affect his sense of balance. He moaned a little at the physical knowledge that Arthur was right behind him. In fact, Merlin had forgotten why he’d been so reluctant…

Which was when he remembered again the filth and the ugliness and the treachery that was the Lady Catrina. He moaned again in desperation – and Arthur, misunderstanding, gave a softly approving little grunt. As soon as they were by the bed, Arthur spun Merlin around to face him, and made efficient work of the fastenings of his britches, before shoving them halfway down Merlin’s thighs. Which meant that his legs were restricted, too. Merlin cast an imploring glance at the prince.

Arthur smiled with a little tenderness, and shaped a hand to Merlin’s cheek and jaw, pressed a kiss to his mouth. Then ordered, ‘On your back at the edge of the bed. Knees bent as far as you can to your chest.’

‘Yes, sire,’ Merlin sighed. And he obeyed.

♦

It was strange at first, and he couldn’t get into it. He couldn’t put aside the lingering sense of revulsion. And yet Arthur… Arthur was beautiful and intense and irresistible – not that Merlin would ever give the prat the satisfaction of telling him that – and… and Arthur was his love, his destiny. Arthur was _his_. Not in a possessive way. Certainly not in an exclusive way, because Arthur was Camelot’s before anything, and also Albion’s and Uther’s and Gwen’s and Morgana’s and… The point was more, perhaps, that Merlin was Arthur’s, till the day he died. There was an unbreakable bond between him and Arthur, _that_ was undeniable. Even Uther had recognised it in one unbearably honest moment, and said he was glad.

Not that Merlin liked to think about Arthur’s father in moments like this – especially not when thoughts of Uther led inevitably to Catrina, and hence to the king foolishly falling in love with the monstrosity that was in the room beneath them at that very moment… Merlin moaned in distaste, and wriggled as if he’d been touched by the filth instead of just seeing it…

‘Don’t struggle,’ Arthur murmured. ‘Unless you want to,’ he added, one corner of his mouth kicking up wickedly.

‘Arthur…’

The prince suddenly stopped. ‘Do you really not want to do this?’

They considered each other for a long moment, oddly cool and removed given that Arthur’s cock was currently rammed deep into Merlin’s arse. ‘I want to do this with you,’ Merlin eventually said, lightly.

‘You _can_ refuse me. In this, at least.’

‘I know.’

Another moment, and then Arthur nodded, and began moving again in long slow strokes. Merlin was curled up beneath him, his rear propped off the bed on his fisted hands, bent in half – or into thirds, really, he reflected whimsically – with his nethers exposed to the cool night air, to Arthur’s attentions, and the rest of him still dressed. Pretty much unable to move at all, even to lift himself into Arthur’s thrusts. Slowly… slowly… all else fell away, and it was just the two of them, joined. Unbreakable.

Arthur’s left hand had slid beneath Merlin’s buttocks, and was cupping and encouraging the best position, the perfect fit. His right hand now slipped down in between them, and of course Merlin couldn’t see anything down there past his knees and booted feet and britches, but suddenly Arthur’s hand was on him, palm and fingers coolly pressed flat against Merlin’s hardness, heel of his hand against his balls. Merlin cried out. He was aroused, so aroused despite his earlier feelings of uninvolvement, and the abrupt blanketing pressure was intense, strangely both remote from him as if it were happening to someone else and unbearably intimate as if he’d never been quite as exposed to Arthur as he was now.

_‘All right…?’_ came the whisper.

_‘Yes… Yes… Arthur…’_

Arthur’s hand started rubbing at him, up and down against him, in a flat firm caress. Not in time with his own thrusts within Merlin, but in a strange kind of counterpoint. Merlin tried to follow, intrigued as if he would manage to pick up the rhythm for himself if only he could pay close enough attention. Not that he could do much of anything about it, except for whimpering occasionally, and then moaning Arthur’s name, for he could hardly even move. Arthur pressed into him, onto him, as if arranging the symmetry of their destiny in the ways his body interwove with Merlin’s.

For a long long while Arthur held him there at the brink, the tantalising not–quite–graspable rhythm never resolving itself, until at last Arthur ended it with an unexpectedly profound stroke and press, and Merlin was coming, the pleasure astonishing, Arthur groaning over him, driving deeper still, and it didn’t ebb away until what seemed like an hour later when Arthur finally carefully withdrew.

Merlin slowly unwound himself, while the prince pushed him gently onto his side, finally tugged his coat off Merlin’s arms. Lay down behind Merlin, and tugged him into an embrace.

‘All right?’ asked the prince.

‘Yes. Oh, _yes_.’

They lay there together for a while, their bodies half across the width of the bed and their feet still propped on the floor, until it seemed that Arthur was starting to drift back to sleep despite the unconventional position.

‘I’d better go,’ Merlin murmured regretfully. ‘Gaius will be wondering where I got to.’

‘All right,’ said Arthur. And he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin just behind Merlin’s ear.

Merlin got him properly settled in the bed under the sheet and the lightest of the blankets, and then returned the favour with a kiss to Arthur’s forehead. ‘Goodnight, sire.’

‘Night, Merlin,’ came the response, already half–muffled by sleep. And to the quiet bass rhythm of Arthur’s snores, Merlin crept out.

♦


End file.
